Forwarding Address
by Odin Roark

Don’t forget to make out the postal card
‘Cause when you’re there
You’ll want all those
Parcels
Mail
Flyers
New phone books
And the precious junk mail

You’ll take your body
That burden you carry about
Of noticeable change
Avoiding mirrors

The one
Whose insides
Woven between brittle bones
Know muscle atrophy
Blood vessel collapse
Bowels contraction-in-waiting—again
Kidneys dreading more martinis
Heart and lungs wondering
WTF gimme some air
Some living blood
Et al

But still

You’ll drag your weary ass
Down the walk
Lick your lips
Open the lid
And voila

Postbox full of…yeah
Junk mail
Just like the good ol’ days
Back at the house
Before the damn retirement scam
Got your attention

C’mon
At least the complex has postboxes galore

What would it be like
With no daily stroll
To check for a card
A letter
A brown-wrapped gift?

It’d be like
The final reality

No need for
A forwarding address

Ever again